


The Color of Truth

by Farbautidottir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Corruption, Gen, Journalism, Oblivious Albus Dumbledore, Secrets, Tea, Veritaserum, Young Albus Dumbledore, Young Gellert Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farbautidottir/pseuds/Farbautidottir
Summary: When Albus Dumbledore's death shocked Wizarding Britain, Rita Skeeter knew that a tell-all biography was necessary. People deserved the truth. But in Rita's experience, the truth was never black and white.
Kudos: 4





	The Color of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally published as an entry for a contest with the prompt: write about someone corrupt who abuses their position of power.
> 
> There are some tie-ins to [The Slytherin Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696936/chapters/39159103) in this story, though it's not necessary to have read it to follow along. It's just a little more fun if you have.

Rita Skeeter had long understood that the truth was not a strict black and white, but a charcoal grey. The color of newsprint. It was her sincere belief that people wanted something to entertain and distract more than they wished to read about reality. She'd staked her entire journalistic career on it, in fact, and how that career had flourished!

Many words could be used to describe her—observant, persistent, driven—but what her success really boiled down to was telling the story her readers wanted to digest. Sure, some people questioned her methods. That vile Granger creature even blackmailed her to the point of almost devastating everything she'd worked so hard to build (and people gossiped that _Rita_ was corrupt!). In her heart, though, she knew she was delivering what the people wanted.

When Albus Dumbledore's death shocked Wizarding Britain, however, she knew that a tell-all biography was necessary. After everything he'd put her through, she knew she was the only person to tell it. People deserved to know the real Dumbledore, not this pathetic fanfare façade built up around his career and defeat of the dark wizard, Gellert Grindelwald. But she couldn't tell _her_ story about the man, no one would read _that_. She needed to find the real dirt. She would have to dig deep.

Rita immediately contacted her longtime publisher and ally, The Prophet Press, with the pitch for her exclusive biography on Dumbledore. As she was the first to pitch the concept and was a proven fiscal success for them over the years, The Prophet Press backed her idea.

With profits in their eyes, they negotiated to publish the book within mere weeks to capitalize on the recency of his untimely demise. Rita had two weeks to get them a first draft, and then they would turn it around to publish it two weeks after that. They never cared about her methods, so long as she delivered. The power of the press now rested firmly in her hands to use however she saw fit.

So, with two weeks to defy Gamp's Law of Transfiguration and conjure something from nothing, she scoured her rolodex like a fiend and attended Dumbledore's funeral for any potential leads.

Like most things in Rita's life, getting meaningful information about one of the most beloved wizards in the last century did not come easy. Albus Dumbledore had been dead for more than a week now, and no one she'd interviewed about him had coughed up a single distasteful thing. She was down to one final lead. Someone who she knew, based on her reputation of being extremely guarded, she could only approach once.

She knocked on the door of Bathilda Bagshot's cottage in Godric's Hollow now. This village always gave Rita a sense of foreboding. Its very air felt heavy with past evils, and the prominent cemetery did little to ease her anxiety.

The door opened with a loud pop of wood, swollen by humidity, bursting from its frame, and Rita found herself face-to-face with a woman who looked weeks away from death. Her papery skin, covered in liver spots, practically hung off her bones. Her height was condensed with age, and even standing upright, she stooped. Her thinned, white hair was visible in wisps poking out of a black, moth-eaten headscarf.

"Can I help you?" Bathilda asked, brow raised with a mild distaste.

"Assuming you're Bathilda Bagshot, I believe you can," Rita began with her most winning smile. "I am Rita Skeeter, a journalist for various publications and author of nonfictional resource books."

"Yes, I know who you are," Bathilda interrupted.

"Wonderful to hear that," Rita said brightly. "I'm currently working on a biography of Albus Dumbledore. Your name came up several times as a friend of his family."

Bathilda looked her up and down twice through eyes that were mostly cataracts, then opened her door further and barked, "Come in."

Rita praised herself for bringing the Veritaserum. While the rumors were that she'd gone senile, it appeared a loosening of the tongue might still be required. As she crossed the threshold into the cottage, the protective wards over the house tingled in her magical aura. Her resolve hardened. She would only be invited inside this home once. She could not mess it up. Exposing Dumbledore depended on it.

"Please, sit down. I've just made myself some tea. I'll go get another teacup for you." Bathilda motioned towards a sofa and sitting chair that had certainly seen better days, then shuffled into the kitchen.

Rita settled into the chair, which was closest to the unlit fireplace. A teapot and single cup and saucer were set upon the coffee table in front of her. The murky brown of milky tea called to her, and Rita slipped the vial of Veritaserum from her crocodile skin bag and dashed a few drops of the clear liquid into Bathilda's teacup.

She stood to throw off suspicion. When Bathilda re-entered the room with the extra teacup, Rita was busy examining a bookshelf that seemed to feature every piece of literature ever written on blood malediction, dating back centuries. It was not a topic Rita knew much about, nor did she care to learn.

"Do sit down. I want to hear about your book idea. I was quite the prolific author in my heyday."

Rita turned with a bright smile plastered on and waltzed back to the chair. She reached into her bag for her trusty red notebook, favorite acid green quill, a roll of parchment, and the Quick-Quotes Quill.

"I do hope it doesn't seem too controversial to publish something about him so soon after his death, but the publishers are hounding me. You don't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill?"

"No, Dear, go ahead. Ah, yes, how I remember the days of Little Red Books hounding me." Bathilda smiled with fond nostalgia then began to pour Rita's tea.

Rita flicked her wand at the Quick-Quotes Quill, and it jumped to alert, hovering over the parchment, ready for the interview to begin.

"I'd hoped for the biography to cover the man's entire life, not just his career at Hogwarts and the Wizengamot. Though, it seems no one has any information on him before the age of twenty-five not readily available in Hogwarts' records." Rita said.

"The Dumbledores lived here in Godric's Hollow for many years, just three houses down. They kept to themselves mostly. I didn't see much of any of them until my great-nephew came to visit and met Albus while they were both out for a walk in the graveyard," Bathilda mused. "Milk?"

"Just a smidge," Rita said and leaned closer. "Your great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald?"

"That's the one," Bathilda said, pouring milk into Rita's tea until it became the same murky brown as her own. "He and Albus were thick as thieves that summer, conspiring away all day and exchanging letters all night."

Rita's heart raced. Albus Dumbledore conspiring with the very Dark Wizard he later defeated? This was almost too good to be true. Perhaps the Veritaserum had been unnecessary.

"Would you happen to have any of these letters?"

"Oh yes, and some photos of the boys. Just there on the shelf," Bathilda said, motioning towards a shelf on the opposite wall.

Rita walked to it gingerly, thrilled such a treasure trove of photos and letters might exist and be available to her. When she saw the framed photo of two handsome young men standing beside each other, she knew she'd struck gold.

Sure, full color would be better, but this was from 1899 and the charcoal grey tones would have to do. They told the truth. This was Albus Dumbledore—virile and alive. The vibrancy of idealism flooded from his eyes and mischief played on his lips as they curled into a warm smile. Gellert stood more stoically beside him, closer than boys might typically stand next to one another, his mouth set in a smirk and his eyes cold with the malicious future he surely envisioned even then.

"Was this taken that summer?" she asked, turning around. She noticed a flash of movement. It was too quick to say, but she thought she'd seen Bathilda switch their teacups.

"Oh yes, they all were. Gellert left after that summer. He never returned to Godric's Hollow after..." she trailed off, finally stating succinctly, "Never mind all that."

Rita desperately wanted to press for more details on whatever happened that caused Gellert to leave and never return, but first she simply had to know if the teacup exchange had only been a trick of the eye.

She slid back into the worn chair, the photo still in hand. "Did something happen to my tea?"

"Oh, you knocked it when you stood before. The teacup nearly tipped over, but I moved it back onto the saucer." Bathilda's smile was unreadable and Rita decided to trust it. She had little choice if she wanted to get the information she needed.

"How kind, thank you."

Bathilda sipped some tea, sighing contently after swallowing. "I love this brew."

Rita forced a smile. The Veritaserum took twenty seconds on average to take hold.

"Do try some," Bathilda encouraged.

Rita lifted her teacup, examining the blue and gold floral pattern just below the rim. "Were you in Ravenclaw?"

"Gryffindor. And you?"

"Ravenclaw. The design reminds me of the house colors."

"Oh, these were my mother's favorite colors. She got this tea set just before I was born, back in 1791. People consider it antique, but I don't see any reason to quit using it. It still functions just fine."

"Sorry, back in 1791? When were you born?"

"Well, isn't that a story." Bathilda grinned and sipped more tea.

Finally, Rita lifted her teacup to her lips and took a sip. It tasted exquisite.

"This is certainly nice tea. What is it?" she asked.

"Oh, just a brew my step-sister used to make for her daughter—Gellert's mother." Bathilda shrugged her frail shoulders, sipping more tea and settling into the arm of the sofa. "What do you make of their photo?"

Rita looked down at the framed picture in her lap.

"Gellert seems to have a plan already, and Albus looks like he is up to something."

"Yes, they were inseparable. The two sent owls back and forth all hours of the night. The beaks tapping on the windows was incessant." She laughed.

"What did they talk about?"

"Everything, I dare say. They were both too bright for their own good. Constantly gushing about some imagined future—The Greater Good. That was what Albus would always say. He was so devastated by everything that happened with his family. I think he needed something to hold onto."

"What happened?" Rita pushed.

"Tell me, Rita, why are you writing this biography?"

"I told you, it's to tell the story of Albus Dumbledore. The people need to know the truth." Rita frowned. Her mouth seemed to be speaking before she planned her words.

"There is no other reason?"

"My career is flailing, and I need something flashy to push me back into the forefront of readers' minds," Rita said.

She immediately gasped. She hadn't meant to say that, it just came out. The Quick-Quotes Quill scratched away, and she glanced over at her roll of parchment to catch the words: _Fierce, classy, and persistent, the formerly esteemed author Rita Skeeter seeks to reclaim her spot at the top of all readership, not just those whiners at Witch Weekly._

Bathilda smiled. There was something smug to it, reminiscent of Gellert's little smirk in the picture.

"So, it is for personal gain? Is that all?"

"What more could there be?" Rita felt distinctly uncomfortable as she attempted, and failed, to stop the next words from her mouth. "I am going to expose him, and I need all the dirt you have, Batty, because my own story isn't enough."

Rita's teacup slipped from her fingers and clattered on the saucer. Bathilda, wand already in hand, ensured no porcelain chipped and no liquid spilled.

"Well, I see that the Veritaserum has set in. That's good, we can finally speak frankly," Bathilda said in a vibrant voice, far from the ancient one she'd apparently been putting on. Rita gaped for a split-second, then narrowed her eyes in contempt. "Oh, don't be so put out. You were the one who put it in my tea to begin with! It's not as though that stuff even works on me, so really, now it's at least not going to waste."

Rita huffed.

"What do you mean Veritaserum doesn't work on you?" she asked, redirecting to avoid revealing more of her truths.

"Oh, I am immortal. Some potions simply don't work on me."

"Immortal?"

"Immortal is a condensed way of explaining it. My brother gave me the Elixir of Life as a baby, and instead of killing me instantly, it became part of my marrow. So, my immortality is similar to the Flamels, before their recent deaths of course, but I do not have to continue consuming the elixir."

Rita wasn't sure how to comprehend this. It sounded utterly mad, but then again, Bathilda had told her she was born in the 1790s—more than 200 years ago. Maybe the rumors old Batty had lost her marbles were true, but her deviant actions suggested otherwise. Her mind raced in the silence, and beside her, the Quick-Quotes Quill furiously scribbled away.

"I wondered when you turned up on my stoop, and it turns out you and I have something in common beyond being authors," Bathilda said when Rita said nothing.

"Do we?"

"Yes, Ms. Skeeter, we both want to expose Albus Dumbledore."

Rita arched her brow. "I thought you two were friends?"

Bathilda shrugged, that smug twinkle in her eye. "Yes, well, so did he."

Rita blinked a few times wordlessly. Even the Quick-Quotes Quill seemed too shocked to know what to write.

"The nerve of that man!" Bathilda exclaimed suddenly, as if she'd been keeping it in for quite some time. "Why would I possibly want to remain friends with the person who sent my only living relative to a prison without visitation rights for the rest of his life?"

Rita waited to see if she would divulge anything else in this angry outburst. When it appeared Bathilda was finished, she asked, "So, you want to expose Dumbledore through my book?"

The cogs began turning rapidly as chapter titles and sensational stories unfolded in her mind. She could envision the book cover, her name bold and bright below some thrilling title.

"It isn't that simple," Bathilda said in a tone Rita was more than familiar with.

"It never is, is it?" Rita smirked. "What do you want in return?"

Bathilda named her price and Rita agreed to it. She would have agreed to any amount because she never planned to pay it. A newfound mastery of memory modification charms was the only good thing to come out of her brief dalliance with Gilderoy Lockhart in 1987. After all, if Bathilda couldn't remember their agreement, then it didn't really exist.

"Well, that's settled, so let's get into it. Tell me everything," Rita said, quill poised.

"There is so much to tell! I know quite a lot about them, given how vulnerable they were when they moved here. No one ever talks about what happened to Albus' sister."

"Albus had a sister?" Rita's eyes widened. This was going to be even better than she'd hoped.

"Yes, indeed! I will start from the beginning," Bathilda said excitedly and launched into the life and lies of Albus Dumbledore.

**/\/\/\**

Three weeks later, Rita scrawled out a note to slip into Bathilda's copy of the best-seller biography.

> Dear Batty,
> 
> Thanks for your help. Here's a copy of the book; hope you like it. You said everything, even if you don't remember it.
> 
> Rita.

She left the note's ink to dry as she collected the roll of parchment containing the Quick-Quotes Quill transcription from their interview. It was full of evidence against her—everything she'd admitted under the truth serum, the payoff agreement she made with Bathilda, and the moment she'd obliviated her. She hadn't had time to stop the quill's charm beforehand.

After ripping apart the pages, she tossed them all into the fire. The pieces hissed and popped as the flames licked their edges. She watched like a hawk through her bejeweled spectacles as the damning words burned into ash before her, the truth becoming a charcoal grey.


End file.
